


S&M (Salieri and Mozart)

by yonderdarling



Series: that hashtag vault lyfe [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Classical Music, F/M, Piano Sex, basically vault porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling
Summary: The one where they fuck on the piano. There's nothing else to say, really.





	S&M (Salieri and Mozart)

**Author's Note:**

> ....summary says it all, really. Hope you enjoy! Thanks to Ilana and Chris for their feedback/ideas/advice on classical music and the inevitable suggestion of Freebird.

The Doctor had a set of rules, regarding the Vault and Missy, that all eventually got shattered into pieces.

First, there'd be no going in the Vault. That had lasted almost a year, until Missy had fallen and broken her wrist (while smashing up furniture, but that's neither here nor there). There'd be no making the Vault comfortable. Well, drawing up designs with Missy had been a fun time filler for one weekend. There'd be no gifts. That had fallen apart once Nardole had pointed out that his weekly literature delivery certainly counted as a gift in this area of the universe.

No weekly visits. Sitting outside the Vault playing mental chess counted. The no-shag rule lasted until the fifth year, when they'd been watching _Arsenic and Old Lace_ , and Missy had touched his neck. In hindsight, he's amazed they lasted that long. They break occasionally - this is one of those times. It's coming up. He can sense it.

Missy reads a lot, when he's not there. She draws, she plays one of their twelve ongoing chess games and swears up and down she's not cheating. Their Scrabble game - spread across six boards and in Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian and Romanian - make it hard for her to do any large-size mechanical projects. That, and he's forbidden it.

The Doctor brings her a lot of clocks. Cogs and wheels, and he can slip them in his pocket without Nardole seeing, and Missy takes them apart, makes them into small clockwork rodents and bigger clocks and smaller ones, and a burgeoning perpetual motion machine that the Doctor confiscates as soon as he sees it coming to fruition.

The Doctor lets himself into the Vault, dragging the hovertrolley behind him with gritted teeth. He pauses on the threshold, waits for the Vault doors to seal behind him. The quantum lock clunks, seals. Seamless. He's really gotten rather good at getting around Nardole on the outside, too.

"Missy?" says the Doctor, glancing across into the kitchen area. No noise from the bathroom and nothing from her upstairs sitting room.

He pulls the hovertrolley and manoeuvres it into the centre of the room. Lets it down carefully, and the piano moves soundlessly onto the floor. The hovertrolley folds up and he puts it back in Missy's toolbox. He crosses the central room and heads for her bedroom, where the door is slightly ajar. He pushes on the light wood and pokes his head inside.

Barely visible under a pile of pillows, Missy snuffles. The Doctor grins, and then, with pillows cascading off her, Missy sits up.

"Whassat?" she asks, her hair ridiculously tangled. She stares at him, rubbing one eye, dwarfed by the extra-large t-shirt she'd selected as pyjamas. Her collarbone is visible through the stretched neck-hole. "I only went to bed an hour ago."

"Just coming in to say hi," he says. "And check you haven't built some kind of incendiary device in the interim."

Missy shakes her head, yawns. "Come here."

"I have a lecture."

"Hence the ironed shirt."

The Doctor finally steps into the room, poses. "Yes."

"Did Nardole do that for you? Come here." Missy pats the mattress next beside her, and he caves, comes over and sits next to her. She ruffles his hair. "TARDIS?"

"She's better at the cuffs."

"I'd like to see one of your lectures," Missy says absently. "You know, not being on the receiving end of one, rather. Seeing if you copy Borusa or Leashaq more."

"I'm impassioned. It's very inspiring. So neither."

Missy lies back down, stares up at him from the messy blankets. "I'm sure."

"It's on unified string theory."

"So, you're going to take about the Muppets?"

"Of course the Muppets. I love the Muppets. Who doesn't like the Muppets? It's just a starting point after all." The Doctor pulls the blankets back up to Missy's chin. "Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Make my breakfast."

"No. I've got a lot of marking to get through too, so I might not come by tonight."

Missy nods. "Leave those essays with me, then."

"Last time I let you do my marking you ranked all of them on how happy their total word count came out as." The Doctor sits back, picks up a few of her pillows, arranges them in a pile on her stomach. "I mean, I enjoyed it, but I got a few calls from the faculty."

"Point taken." Missy shuts her eyes. "Night-night."

The Doctor watches her for a brief second, smiling, wondering how she'll react to the piano. Missy cracks open one eye.

"You're still here. Why are you still - mpph." Missy hums as she kisses him back, running her hands up the nape of his neck. She leans up into him. When the Doctor pulls back, she makes a point of holding him in place. "You're in a good mood. You should stay. We could both use a shag. It's been - what - "

 _Years_."No thanks. We've held off this long," says the Doctor, and kisses her on the forehead.

"This time around, anyway." Missy flops back onto the mattress.

"You're doing well," he says, and she pulls a face up at him. "You are. Really well. I mean, generally. Not at that.And now, I really need to go. I left you some new books on the kitchen table."

"Do you do this for all your supposed students when their marks improve? Bedroom delivery of new literature with occasional granddad smooches?"

"Only when it's not a gross breach of ethics and there's an age gap of less than a millennium."

"And morally?"

Missy gives him a sideways look, her eyes bright blue and smouldering against the tangled black of her hair. The Doctor raises his eyebrows and slides off the bed, nods at Missy. She smiles, curling back up.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Welcome, Mistress."

 

*** * ***

 

He's halfway through a lecture when he feels the psychic paper growing warm in his pocket. A message. The Doctor falters halfway through his recitation of Sonnet 116 - one of the men and two of the women in the back row frown.

"Lily," he says, pointing vaguely. "Can you go over the requirements for the essay."

One of the other faculty members stands, awkwardly, shuffles over to the podium and begins to speak. The Doctor steps off the stage, heads out the door. He reaches into his jacket and finds the psychic paper.

Appearing on the page, fading into sight then reappearing, is scrawled music notes; it takes him a moment to recognise them. Beethoven's Seventh.

He rubs his thumb across the paper; sends _It's polite to thank someone for a gift._

Another moment. _Any requests?_

_Freebird._

"Doctor?" asks Nardole, materialising behind him. "Is it all - clear?"

The Doctor closes the paper, holds it up. "She just wants a snack." He catches Nardole's look. "A milkshake, she wants a milkshake, but she's not got a blender."

Nardole tuts, and the Doctor shrugs, stowing the paper.

"You went down to the Vault this morning, didn't you?"

The Doctor nods.

"Any….particular reason you decided to do that?" Nardole asks.

"Our friend down there was giving a good bashing to the door. Just wanted to check the balance was alright. And it's fine."

"Uh-huh," says Nardole.

"Can I go back to my lecture now?" the Doctor asks. "Do I have your permission?"

Nardole sort of flaps his arms at the door, and the Doctor lets himself back into the hall.

 

*** * ***

 

_Apparently it's polite to come see someone's recital when they're playing your request._

The Doctor snaps the psychic paper shut. He types the code into the door, turns his key. At the last second, he checks over his shoulder - no Nardole. The Doctor lets out a breath, opens the Vault doors and steps inside.

Missy's bent over the piano's keys, her foot pressed firmly on the dampener pedal. She finishes the movement and turns, grins at him.

"Hi," she says, and turns back to the keys, plays something else.

"You can take your foot off that," says the Doctor, crossing the room and putting the sushi in the little fridge. "Nardole's mucking out the proton-filters in the TARDIS. He can't hear."

Missy breathes out, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees her roll her shoulders, tip her head back. She rests her fingers on the white keys, not pressing down, just watching. The Doctor turns to study her properly, leaning against the wall. She's discarded her jacket, rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, taken all her rings off.

Missy plays a chord. It sounds rich and full, and the Vault has amazing acoustics. She smiles wider, looks at him.

"That's not _Freebird_ ," says the Doctor.

"I fucking - hate _Freebird_ ," Missy says. She plays another major chord, closes her eyes, breathes out. "It's beautiful, Doctor."

He watches her.

"Thank you," Missy says, and reaches out and runs her hand along the glossy black lid. It's unopened, a few pieces of handwritten sheet music scattered along the top. "Doctor, it's magnificent."

"My pleasure," says the Doctor, and turns so she can't see him smiling. "I brought some marking in. Are you fine with me doing that while you play, or would you like a round of chess?"

"You mark," says Missy, waving one hand dismissively. "But you can't really expect me to play _Freebird_. It goes for ten minutes. Give me a challenge, _Dottore_."

"I suppose you've played your turn of Scrabble then?"

A low chuckle. "What gave it away?"

"I'll take my turn later. I got sushi for dinner," says the Doctor, sitting on the couch that faces the Vault doors, rifling through his satchel and bringing out a bundle of quizzes. "Did you ever meet Anna Bon?"

"Just her parents, as yet."

And with that, Missy launches into one of Bon's spidery Harpsichord sonatas, the sound rich and full around the room. As she plays the Doctor begins to work through the pop quizzes, tapping his foot in time. He's relatively impressed with the answers, even if the faculty head asked (begged) him to put in questions actually related to his subject's topic - quantum physics. One student has drawn Mr Chad at the bottom of her quiz, asking for an extra point. The Doctor gives her two, writes, 'Wot? No Whalemeat?' beside the picture.

Missy progresses to the Andantino movement of the piece.

"Where's the sushi from?"

The Doctor looks up. "Shop down the road. I'm not going all the way to Japan for you."

"Hm." Missy keeps playing.

The Doctor watches her fingers on the keys. She's taken her nailpolish off. After a few more minutes, the quizzes are finished, and he stows them in his bag, thinks about checking over Bill's essay. He finds his gaze falling to Missy again, realises he's biting his thumbnail, watching her. Missy looks over athim, grins, and picks out the first few bars of _Freebird_. Then, she stops, shuffles through some of the music on the top, and selects a piece. She begins to pick through something German and Baroque. The Doctor forces his eyes away, finds Bill's essay in his bag, and spends the first movement of one of Pachebel's Canons staring at the first paragraph without taking anything in. He shakes himself - looks at Missy, who seems maddeningly unaware - and makes himself focus.

Missy keeps playing through through the canon, and after he gets through three of six pages of Bill's work, the Doctor stands. Missy segues into Für Elise as he walks over, sits beside her on the piano bench. The notes, Missy's playing, her timing, are all impeccable. She plays through the rest of the tune, and then stretches her hands out.

"Schubert four hands?" she asks, and the Doctor puts his fingers on the keys obligingly. "Don't worry, I'll do the pedals."

"I'm really out of practise," the Doctor says. Missy shrugs. "Just letting you know."

"Indulge me."

Missy counts them in, and they begin. Missy takes the lion's share of the difficult parts, while the Doctor's part mainly requires him to keep the beat. He plays, enjoying the feel of the keys below his fingers, and the smell and sense of Missy beside him. He slides his hands off the keys. Missy segues into something that only needs one set of hands to play it; something Holst, not looking at him. The Doctor reaches across and tucks a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. The corner of her mouth quirks.

"Keep going," he says, and Missy continues to play, reaching his favourite part of the Jupiter suite.

"It's everyone's favourite part," she says.

The Doctor runs his index finger down the back of her neck. Missy keeps playing. He trails that finger around down to the top of her collar, up her throat, presses it against her lips. They move under his skin as she smiles. She parts her lips and blows a cool puff of air against his finger, and the Doctor retreats.

She pushes forward with Holst, building to the crescendo. The Doctor slides across on the seat so their thighs are pressed together. Missy clears her throat.

"Any requests?" she asks.

"You can sing," the Doctor says.

"I can." Missy plays a couple of jazzy chords. "I could."

He plays with her hair again, curling it around two of his fingers. Missy picks a few more notes out. They sound vaguely familiar; and as she plays on he realises.

"Stars, shining bright above you - classic, right?" says Missy, glancing at him. They're so close they nearly brush noses. She turns back to the keys. "Night breezes - seem to whisper, dah-dah-dah. Birds singing, in the sycamore tree."

As she sings, quiet and pure, the Doctor moves in and presses his lips to the corner of her jaw. Missy leans into him, keeps playing. He trails his lips down her neck, feels her pulses thrumming under her skin. He reaches over, unties the bow around her collar, lets that drop to the floor. He unbuttons the top two buttons of her shirt, goes back to kissing her neck. He keeps one hand on her thigh, cups her nape with the other.

And Missy keeps playing, though she stops singing, starts humming. He can feel the vibrations from her voicebox and laughs into her skin, keeps kissing her neck. Missy lets out a shaky breath, swallows. Pushes through into the bridge.

The Doctor moves his hand on her thigh, begins to tug her skirt up. He slides his hand underneath it, caresses her knee.

Missy hits a wrong note. She pops her lips.

"Fuck it," she says, grabs his face and kisses him with abandon. "If you stop - "

"I'm not stopping," says the Doctor, sliding his hand further up her skirt, gripping the bare skin of her thigh.

"You and your stupid rules."

"Rules are rules for a reason."

Missy shifts, and there's a few accidentally pressed keys, and somehow she's straddling one of his thighs. She bites his mouth, trails her hands through his hair.

"Do you know - "

"I know most things," says the Doctor.

Missy shifts on his thigh, rubbing herself against his leg. She pauses, presses their foreheads together. She sends him bright images of her lying in bed that morning, fantasising about the Doctor, about him staying that morning and him pinned under her hands -

"Fuck," says the Doctor.

"Yes," says Missy, her voice low. The Doctor leans in and catches her mouth again, kisses down her neck, pulling her shirt buttons apart. "Doctor, do you know how long I've wanted you? Really, really wanted? I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to make you beg for me." Missy moans. "I wanted to sit on your face."

The Doctor grabs her arse at that, pulls her closer, her thigh pressing against his groin. He pulls open her shirt properly, pulls at the clasps on her corset. In the background, there's the sound of buttons bouncing along the floor.

"Why do you still wear this shit?" he asks.

"You love it, I love it," Missy says, and she pushes his head down onto her breasts. He nips at the skin, laves his tongue up her sternum. "Keeps my posture perfect."

The Doctor shoves her shirt off her shoulders, and it falls to the floor. He bites her shoulder - Missy moans, and she cups his aching cock through his trousers. He pulls at the clasps of her corset again, to no avail.

Missy shifts in his lap, massages his cock. The Doctor moans against her mouth, runs his hands down her legs and pulls her skirt up again, squeezing her thighs. He finds the edges of her stockings and garters, slips his fingers under them. Missy hums, leans back on the keys and there's a series of plunks as she presses them down. The Doctor gets his hands under her thighs, lifts her up onto the keys with a discordant clang. Missy laughs into his mouth, nips at his lip. She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against her.

The Doctor keeps kissing her, one hand on her arse, the other buried in her hair, pulling on the strands. Missy scrabbles at his buttons, pulls his shirt apart. Buttons clatter around the room. Missy drags her nails down his bare chest, digs them into his hips. Missy shifts against him, the piano's keys sounding off under her. Missy licks under his ear, chuckles. She trails one hand down to the keys and plays several high, staccato notes. The Doctor laughs into her mouth.

"Are we going to fuck on the piano?" she asks, her voice husky and rough.

It takes the Doctor a moment to get enough oxygen to reply. "I'm appalled that's even a question."

He grabs Missy around the waist, and heaves her up on top of the piano. She presses one booted foot onto his shoulder, rests the other on the piano's keys. Her heel stabs a Bb flat key, loud when the only other sounds are their breathing and the rustle of clothing. She begins to unpick her corset as the Doctor pulls her skirt off roughly, bites at the silky skin of her upper thighs.

"No, no, up here, up here," says Missy. "I want to see your face."

She sits, and the Doctor finishes pulling off her corset, throws it to one side. He gets a foot on the piano bench, uses that to climb up on top of the piano, propping himself up on one elbow, lying over Missy. She pokes him in the nose. The Doctor leans down and kisses her again, trailing a hand down her neck, shoulders, over one of her breasts. He teases her nipple, mimicking the motions of his fingers with his tongue on Missy's ear. She purrs, presses up against him. One of her hands travels down his stomach, unbuttons his trousers, pulls down his fly. Missy pushes her hand into his underwear, takes hold of his cock. The Doctor makes a strangled noise and Missy giggles. He moves across and kisses her while she laughs. Her foot moves up and down, hitting the piano's keys again.

"I want to try playing something while you eat me out," Missy says, and the Doctor nearly comes in his pants right then and there. She moves her hand up and down his cock, fingers cool on the delicate skin. "Again, any requests that aren't _Freebird_?"

The Doctor kisses down her neck, moves his hand up her thigh again, pulls her underwear to one side. She's soaked the fabric through, hot and slick, and he slides a finger inside her, circles her clit with his thumb. Missy hums, strokes his cock. They stay like that for a few minutes, touching each other, kissing messily. He's half-blind with want when Missy suddenly gasps against his mouth, twitches. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, groans into his shoulder.

"Did you just - "

"Sh - "

"That was _nothing_ ," says the Doctor, and then makes a panicked sound when Missy tightens her fingers around his cock. "I take it back, I take it back."

Missy laughs, low and deep in her throat. The Doctor shifts, pulls his pants down awkwardly as Missy tries to get her underwear off.

"Hold still," says the Doctor, grabs ahold of the lace, and yanks.

They tear off easily, and Missy makes an impressed noise. The Doctor tosses her underwear aside. Missy slings her leg over the Doctor's hips, pushing him onto his back, his shoulder-blades pressing into the piano painfully. Missy straightens up and the Doctor steadies her with his hands on her hips, her purple skirt pooling around her thighs. She slides back onto his cock, and they both moan.

Missy shifts on top of him, her cunt wet and hot around his cock. She thrusts, and the Doctor moves below her, digging his nails into her hips. Missy leans down and kisses him roughly, messily, her hair falling around his face. The Doctor keeps one hand on her hip, uses the other to push her hair back. He thrusts up into her and she moans into his mouth, keeps kissing him. The Doctor slides his hand from her hip up to her breasts, squeezes them roughly. Missy squeezes his hips between her thighs. They fuck hard, the Doctor burying his groans in Missy's shoulder. She gasps into his hair, one of her hands tight on his neck, nails digging into the skin.

The Doctor's foot slips, and his boot-heel crashes into the keys with a bang. Missy laughs, gasps when the Doctor bites her. She sits back heavily, the Doctor groaning as her walls move around him.

"Fuck," says the Doctor.

"Art on art on art. You like that?"

"Of course I d - " says the Doctor, and that's when Missy begins to ride his cock, one hand on her clit, the other braced against the piano's top.

The Doctor swears as she moves on top of him, her breasts bouncing, her hair cascading over her shoulders. He grips her hips and starts pulling her closer to him on every thrust, digging his fingers into the flesh on her sides. The Doctor grabs a handful of her hair, tangles his fingers in the curly black strands and pulls. Missy cries out and leans over him, buries her face in his neck as she moves her hips wildly. The Doctor meets Missy's thrusts, fisting his hand in her hair.

She shakes, her walls tightening around him. The Doctor cups the nape of her neck, panting. Missy shouts as she comes, and he matches her, groaning loudly.

Missy presses her face into his neck, her breath cool against his flush skin. The Doctor trails his hand up and down her sweaty back, picks up her tangled hair and arranges it over her shoulder. Missy hums. She nips his neck, kisses her teethmarks. Another bite; another kiss. The Doctor turns his head and kisses her cheek.

"I'm going to fall asleep like this," he says. "Which isn't - ideal."

"I'm weighing my options," Missy says.

The Doctor squeezes her thigh. "Up," he says.

"Say something nice."

"Up, or I'll lift you off myself."

Missy taps her nails on his chest. "It's odd, but that's kind of working for me."

Her voice is rough and husky, and the Doctor likes it. He's too tired to do anything about it, but he likes it. The Doctor shakes his head, feels a cold sensation at the back of his brain. Reading his thoughts, Missy sniggers, swings off him and flops onto the piano lid beside him. She butts her forehead against his bicep.

"I carried you into the Vault. You were complaining the entire time," the Doctor says, rubbing his eyes. "You did _not_ enjoy it."

"You slung me over your shoulder and knocked the wind out of me."

"What?"

"You - " Missy rolls over. "Ah, the traditional passing out of the Doctor after a good shag."

The Doctor forces himself to wake up, looks over at her, admiring the bright blue of her eyes. "Without tradition, we are cattle, as they say."

"A poor excuse. Well, you're not sleeping on my piano, buddy."

He rolls off the piano, only just manages to get his footing before he falls onto the bare floor. He kicks his boots, and then his pants and trousers off properly, because that's easier than trying to figure out how zippers work with his brain in such a fog. The Doctor shuffles over to the rug and lies down on it, groans, his legs shaking. Missy makes a pleased noise from atop the piano, and he glances over to see her sprawled out on top of the lid, running her hands through her hair. She stretches.

"Come here," says the Doctor, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Hm?"

"Who knows how much longer that thing will take the extra weight. The tuning is probably already buggered."

Missy laughs tiredly. He watches her legs as they swing down off the piano, and she lands softly, cat-like, on the floor, pads across to him. She lies down on the rug behind him, wraps an arm around his chest.

"Lucky I vacuumed," she says, and the Doctor laughs. She presses a kiss to the back of his neck, rubs her nose into his hair. "Top marks. Well done to both of us."

"I'm falling asleep," the Doctor mumbles. "Sorry. Do you know how long it took me to get that piano out of the TARDIS and down here without Nardole noticing? The lengths I went to?"

"I can only imagine your deviousness," says Missy. "Shame you didn't have me to help you."

"Consider that hint not taken."

Missy keeps combing his hair through her fingers. The Doctor drags over his coat and bunches it up, shoves the bundle under his head. Slowly, Missy starts humming the song she was playing earlier, and the Doctor closes his eyes.

 

*** * ***

 

Missy puts a plate on his chest. The cold china on his skin makes him stir. Missy settles across from him on the rug, wearing her fluffy dressing gown and looking exceptionally smug. Her hair is twisted in a messy bun on top of her head, held in place with a pencil. She balances her own plate of sushi on her knee.

The Doctor rubs his eyes. "How long was I asleep?"

"Thirty-two minutes, give or take," she says. "Eat."

"You look - pleased," says the Doctor. He puts the plate to one side, sits up. He stands with a groan, stretches, and quickly finds his boxers when he sees Missy's expression. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"I didn't say anything," Missy says, picking up a piece of sushi and popping it into her mouth. "Lovely."

The Doctor wanders around the room, picking up pieces of clothing and trying to put them back on. He puts his shirt on. One button has survived. Missy laughs, her mouth full.

"I have a sewing kit," she says, swallowing. She catches the Doctor's look. "No scissors, don't worry."

"Needles, I've seen what you can do with needles."

"All you have to do is _ask_ ," says Missy, raising her eyebrows. "Sit, eat, have a meal with me. No, go get the tea. It should be ready by now."

He gets the teapot from the clockwork-controlled tea-making machine she built, and totes the pot and two cups over while Missy fetches two cushions for them to sit on. She winces as she sits down, and the Doctor chuckles.

"You - shush," Missy says, and he laughs properly. "Doctor?"

"Hm?"

The Doctor brings the tea over, sets it out between them. Missy pours two cups.

"Your phone's buzzing."

"Well, if the world is ending, I'm sure they'll ring back," says the Doctor. He knows for a fact there are no invasions on this day in Earth's history. "Probably."

"Well, I'm fairly certain it's not me, if it is."

Missy passes him a cup of tea. He breathes in the steam, coughs. He takes one scalding sip, then turns to his sushi. They eat in companionable, tired silence for a few minutes.

"Any rules left to break?" Missy asks. She sips her tea. "You know, no showering in the Vault, no doing the dishes in the Vault - "

"I never do the dishes," says the Doctor, confused.

"I _know_."

"The TARDIS just sort of - does them for me," says the Doctor.

"She's a good wife. Have you ever tried to cuddle her? She probably just wants to feel appreciated." Missy looks him up and down. "You've probably tried making out with the rotor."

The Doctor firmly pushes down on the image of Idris, in her raggedy grey dress. "She's not - well," he says. "Well, actually. She _is_ appreciated."

Missy grins. "What a love triangle we're in, hey?" she asks. "Actually it's more of a love pentagon. You love the TARDIS and River, I occasionally have disgusting feelings towards you and you reciprocate those, and then there's Nardole. He slots in somewhere, I'm sure."

"Admitting feelings now, are we?"

Missy pops her lips, shrugs. "Are you taking that as a win in my tutelage?"

"I am."

"Then you should do the dishes."

"I can do that."

"Or," says Missy. "Or - you could help me finish the clockwork dish-washer I'm working on."

The Doctor chews his sushi, nods, swallows. Smiles. "Sounds good. Want to watch a movie later, too? I'm feeling _Salieri_. Or _Star Wars: Episode XVI._ " Missy's smirking at him. "What?"

"You have seaweed in your teeth."

"That's it, that's it," says the Doctor. "I'm picking the movie."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Comments and feedback are always appreciated!


End file.
